Super Psycho Love
by xdatenshibluex
Summary: "There is no real life for those such as us. You're a brought to life imaginary friend thought up by a scared child and I'm a relic from the past that can't move forward because everything fell apart a long time ago. There is no happy ending for us. There never was from the beginning. We're monsters and we're stuck here in a world that has no use for us." Psychoshipping


**Title:** Super Psycho Love

**Summary:** "There is no real life for those such as us. You're a brought to life imaginary friend thought up by a scared child and I'm a relic from the past that can't move forward because everything fell apart a long time ago. There is no happy ending for us. There never was from the beginning. We're monsters and we're stuck here in a world that has no use for us." Slightly AU. Psychoshipping.

**Rating:** MA

**Genre:** Romance/Angst/Hurt/Comfort/Friendship/Family

**Pairings:** Psychoshipping. Eventual Angstshipping, Trustshipping and Chaseshipping. Mentioned Peachshipping and Polarshipping. Very small mention of Odion x OC

**Warnings:** Sex, sadism/masochism, violence, mentions of murder and suicidal thoughts, drinking and language.

*******_Welcome one and all to my psychoshipping fanfiction~! This is the prologue. I hope you enjoy. I do not own YGO or any of the songs I use in this story.*_**

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><p><em>Chapter Track : Drunk by Ed Sheeran<em>

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><p>Shoved between two less than trustworthy looking establishments on the shit side of Domino City sits an equally shitty bar. It's the kind of place you don't go to if you can help it: concrete floor stained by questionable substances, the worn leather-bound stools ripped and torn, and barely lit on the inside by bare light bulbs in the single digits, and a mere flickering streetlight from the out. It's the kind of place you go to alone at three in the morning when your hopes are low and your need to forget and cast away society is high. And that's precisely why Bakura has found himself here many a night, tonight just but another.<p>

He outstretches his legs to come to rest on the booth across from him. The windows are so grimy that the glow from the streetlight is barely making it through, but Bakura stares out at the empty sidewalk anyway, his bleary eyes empty and lost.

Bakura's drunk. He's really drunk. He's drunk enough to not notice the putrid mixture of body odor and cheap liquor smell that hangs heavy in the air, or the shifty eyes he's getting, presumably for the vast array of empty glasses he has piled up on the table.

He's drunk enough to want to cry. Drunk enough that he could let go of all the pent up emotions behind the wall if he wanted to. But he's not going to. Bakura isn't an emotional drunk. He's not even an angry drunk. He's just a drunk drunk. He's dizzy and he's nauseous and his body feels tingly and numb at the same time.

He's just drunk. Drunk and empty.

The bell above the door signals a new arrival, but the whitette doesn't look up. He doesn't even look up when he hears his name. He vaguely recognizes the voice, but he's too out of it to put a face to it. It's not until his legs are lifted up and dropped to the floor that he looks up to see who dares slide into the seat in front of him.

"You."

His eyes go wide at first, then narrow in confusion. Surely his vision is failing him. Surely the smirking man before him is not Yami Marik.

"Me."

The man says the word proudly, as if he's some sort of divine entity that's blessing Bakura with his presence.

"You." Bakura repeats, his eyes narrowing more so. It falls dangerously off his tongue, harsh and bitter. It is him. Bakura would recognize those crazy eyes anywhere.

How is he here, Bakura wonders. He was banished to the shadows back in Battle City, he thought. But then again, Bakura himself is supposed to be gone, too; a long forgotten memory. Yet here he sits, across from Mariku no less.

"What are you doing here?"

It's really all Bakura can think of to say. Mariku taps one of the many empty classes with his nails and seems to muse over that for a second or two.

"I could ask you the same question." he finally answers, glancing up in an attempt to meet the other's gaze. But Bakura promptly looks away.

"You shouldn't be here." Again, it's all Bakura can think up to say. He shakes his head, trying to will away the headache that is coming on.

"Concerned, are you? " There's humor in the demon's voice. "I can go wherever I please. I can take care of myself, as I'm sure you already know."

"That's not what I meant." Bakura snaps, and he's not really sure why.

He stands suddenly, unsteadily, and stumbles over to the bar, catching himself with his arms on the counter. He clumsily gets up onto the stool, hearing the splintered wood crack under his weight. He reaches for his glass but upon realizing it's not there he bangs his palm on the counter, trying to gain the bartenders attention.

"Vodka." he orders as he lays his head down on his arms.

"You've had enough."

I've had enough of your backtalk, he thinks, but can't find the energy to actually speak the words. So he just bangs his palm against the wood again and makes a 'come on' motion with his hand afterward. He hears a sigh above him, but sure enough a drink is set down by his hand a moment later.

Bakura raises his head and takes a gulp of the alcohol, just barely wincing as it burns it's way down. He props up his elbow and rests his cheek in his palm, closing his eyes. He thinks Mariku has left, but then he's spun around to face him, and he just barely manages to not throw up. When his vision clears up he sees the other leaning down to look him in the face. Bakura wonders how he's going to get home in such a state, and as if Mariku can read his thoughts, the blonde chuckles and shakes his head at him.

"Oh how you've fallen."

The whitette growls and shoves him away, albeit weakly, and Mariku just chuckles again and hops up onto the stool to his left.

"You know," Mariku begins. "I could help you home."

Bakura growls again, the nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach worsening in intensity. The bar is so dusty that you could write your name in it with your finger and Bakura grips onto it for support.

"I don't need any help from the likes of you!"

"I'll have what he's having." Bakura hears him say.

All is silent for a few moments. Bakura's head swims while the other sips at his drink. What is Mariku doing in Domino City, Bakura wonders, and why is he at a bar of all places? It seems like as good a place as any to pick a fight, but Mariku doesn't seem interested in that aspect. The only thing he seems interested in is Bakura, and that has the spirit unnerved.

"Marik and I made up."

Bakura snorts, almost laughs out right. Made up? The demon Marik created out of his own misery and suffering, who ruined him and tried to kill him, made up with him? Right. And Bakura was still the King of Thieves.

Suddenly feeling more bitter than before, Bakura raises up and looks directly at Mariku.

"You made up." It's a statement. An unconvinced statement.

Mariku just nods as he sips away at his drink.

Bakura scoffs. Mariku slams his glass down.

"I have a life now. A real life."

"You are hilarious, you know that?"

Mariku looks put out, offended even. Bakura doesn't care. He goes on. Surprisingly enough, despite his level of intoxication, he comes up with quite the rant.

"There is no real life for those such as us. You're a brought to life imaginary friend thought up by a scared child and I'm a relic from the past that can't move forward because everything fell apart a long time ago. There is no happy ending for us. There never was from the beginning. We're monsters and we're stuck here in a world that has no use for us."

Bakura angrily kicks the bar and grumbles to himself, taking another swig of his drink. Thousands of years of of his pathetic excuse for a life all lead up to his ultimate defeat. There was no happily ever after. There was no downfall of the Pharaoh. There was no justice for his people. There was nothing. Nothing at all.

And there is nothing still.

"Where are you going?"

Mariku asks the question before Bakura even realizes he's up and heading for the door.

He stops, held up only by the door frame, and glares at the blonde like he was the one who burnt his village down to the ground. And then he stumbles out.

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><p><em>I wanna be drunk when I wake up, on the right side of the wrong bed. And never an excuse I made up. To tell you the truth I hate what, didn't kill me. It never made me stronger at all<em>


End file.
